


Learning curve

by SnufflestheBear



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Lucy is a control freak, Lucy really digs Susan B Anthony, Rufus is a big science nerd, Rufus is the smart one, Team Bonding, Wyatt always gets the big guys, Wyatt doesn't talk, Wyatt is an egg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 21:26:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8417449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnufflestheBear/pseuds/SnufflestheBear
Summary: They’re getting to know each other, and they trust each other all right. That’s easy. But understanding each other – that takes a little time.





	1. Chapter 1

They’re getting to know each other, and they trust each other all right. That’s easy. But understanding each other – that takes a little time.  
  
Rufus is a friendly guy, and he’s certainly willing to give his opinion on things, but he’s not always… expressive. At least, not like this. With a few drinks in him, all it takes is the right question and suddenly he’s gesticulating wildly and waxing lyrical about what appears to be his favourite subject while Lucy and Wyatt watch in tipsy bemusement.  
  
“Einstein always said time is a fourth dimension,” he’s saying, his unfocused gaze directed somewhere in between the two of them. “And it’s directional, usually only forward, but with an Einstein-Rosen bridge, you can connect two points in spacetime – spacetime means thinking about space and time as a continuum, see, and…”  
  
Wyatt looks at Lucy. She scrunches up her face, tilts her head to one side, and gives a tiny shrug. He raises his eyebrows and returns the gesture. They both go back to watching Rufus.  
  
“But to make the wormhole bigger,” Rufus is saying, “You’d need exotic matter, that’s matter with a negative energy density, but…”  
  
Wyatt picks up his beer and takes a slow pull. Lucy takes a peanut from the bowl in the bar and nibbles at it. They glance at each other again, and one corner of Lucy’s mouth twitches upward. Wyatt presses his lips firmly together. If he smiles, he’s going to start laughing in sheer confusion at Rufus’s stream of words, and if he does Lucy will too, and if they laugh at him Rufus will never forgive them and he will never, never be this enthusiastic about anything ever again. So they both shift their focus back to Rufus and “hmm” attentively.  
  
“And THAT,” Rufus finishes triumphantly, “Is how we ended up getting drunk at a bar in the seventies!”  
  
“Strategically drunk,” says Wyatt.  
  
“Yeah. Strategically drunk. See?”  
  
They both nod in unison, solemnly, for a second, and then Wyatt starts shaking his head, and Lucy says, “No, not at all.”  
  
“Didn’t understand a word of it,” Wyatt confirms.  
  
Lucy sees the look of disappointment on Rufus’ face and takes pity. “If it makes you feel any better,” she tells him, “We now realise that you are actually very smart.”  
  
“You didn’t realise that before? I’m the pilot of a time machine that _I_ helped build!”  
  
Wyatt picks up a glass of beer and presses it into Rufus’ hand. “It’s okay,” he says. “You do the science stuff. We do the other stuff. We don’t need to understand what you’re actually doing.”  
  
“But you _asked_ ,” says Rufus, looking imploringly at Lucy.  
  
“I know.” She puts her hand over his and gently pushes the glass toward his mouth. He looks surprised to see it, but takes a gulp.  
  
“I _am_ very smart,” he reminds them, once the glass is empty. “And I deserve another drink. And you’re going to listen to me talk about string theory.”  
  
Wyatt signals the bartender for another round, leans an elbow on the bar and turns his full attention to Rufus. On the pilot’s other side, Lucy does the same. “Okay, Rufus,” he says. “Tell us about string theory. We’re totally going to pay attention.”  
  
They don’t. Later, they learn together that time travel is much, much worse with a hangover.


	2. Chapter two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rufus learns to throw a punch and is reminded that Wyatt doesn't talk about things.
> 
>   
> 
> *

“I feel like an idiot.” Rufus folds his arms, tucking his hands under his armpits. “Can we just end this farce?”  
  
“You’re doing great.” Wyatt smiles, punches him lightly in the arm. “Come on. Hands up.”  
  
“But this isn’t my thing. I do the science stuff. You do the, you know, the violence stuff.”  
  
Wyatt’s smile freezes, then fades. “I can’t always be with you, Rufus. You need to learn this. Just the basics.”  
  
“People might see us. This isn’t two-way glass, you know.” Rufus looks out of the conference room window, but none of his coworkers are facing in his direction.  
  
“So what if they do? You’re learning to defend yourself, nothing embarrassing about that.”  
  
Rufus huffs out a breath, but he raises his hands, loosely balled into fists.  
  
“Okay,” says Wyatt. He holds up the stapler he stole from Mason’s desk, pointing it at Rufus like a gun. “What do you do?”  
  
“Surrender instantly,” says Rufus, but he does the turn-and-wrist-grab Wyatt showed him, twists hard, and, much to his delight, the stapler clatters to the floor. “Yeah!” he whoops. “Did you see that?” He twists a little harder in his victory and Wyatt yelps. Rufus lets go hastily, holding up both hands, palms out. “Sorry! Sorry. Got carried away.”  
  
“No, it’s okay. That was great.” Wyatt flexes his hand, but he’s grinning. “You disarmed me. What do you do next?”  
  
Rufus awkwardly tries to throw a punch, but Wyatt deflects easily, shaking his head.  
  
“No, no, no. You were aiming for my chest? Punch someone there and all you’re going to do is hurt your hand. You need to incapacitate as quickly as possible or you end up in a drawn-out fight. My instructor used to say that if your fight isn’t over in two or three moves, you’re either a terrible fighter or you’re punishing yourself for something.”  
  
Rufus drops his arms to his sides. “Wait a minute,” he says, suspiciously. “You’re always getting into long fights.”  
  
Wyatt blinks at him. “What?”  
  
“You’re always getting into extended fights and coming out all bruised. In the last four missions, you’ve had the crap kicked out of you three times. Are you telling me you’re a terrible fighter?”  
  
“Man, c’mon,” Wyatt scoffs.  
  
“Well, then, are-” Rufus has always been an observant man. He sees the tense set of Wyatt’s shoulders, and then he sees his expression, and the obvious follow-up question dies on his lips. He hesitates for a moment; then, carefully, he raises his fists. “Well, then,” he starts again, “I guess you’d better show me where I should be aiming.”  
  
Wyatt relaxes slightly. “Okay,” he says, a small smile creeping back onto his face. “So above the shoulders, you’re looking at eyes, nose, or throat. If you’re coming in from the side you can try to dislocate the jaw…”  
  
Rufus nods and pays attention and learns, and aims his punches where Wyatt tells him to, but it’s a long time before he stops thinking about that expression.


	3. Chapter three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Lucy REALLY hates it if things spin out of control and it's her fault, but really likes Susan B Anthony, Rufus thinks of a plan, and Wyatt has a run-in with a cleaver.
> 
>  
> 
> *

It’s been a rough few days, one mission straight after another. They’re all tired and frustrated, and they feel like they’re losing a war of attrition. It’s really no surprise that they’re snapping at each other.  
  
“It’s too dangerous.” Wyatt is about as angry as he ever gets, though their proximity to curious onlookers keeps his voice low. “I go in, I find this lady, I find out-“  
  
“No!” Lucy is as angry as Wyatt, hands fisted. They’re leaning in close to each other to convey their fury better. “You are not going to meet Susan B Anthony. You are not going to talk to Susan B Anthony or kidnap Susan B Anthony or get Susan B Anthony shot. You are not going anywhere NEAR Susan B Anthony!”  
  
“Stop saying Susan B Anthony!” Wyatt shouts.  
  
They almost look like they’re flirting, Rufus thinks, but then, they usually do. Time to see if he can get a word in edgewise. “Uh, guys,” he begins, “if I may -”  
  
They turn to him just long enough to shout “NO!” in synch, then they’re back in each other’s faces, a hair away from kissing distance. Rufus sighs. Relegated to science guy with no say in the plan, yet again.  
  
“You can’t go in there alone,” Wyatt is saying. “You have no idea who’s in there or what might happen.”  
  
“No,” says Lucy, “ _You_ can’t go in there alone. The last two times you’ve tried have been a total disaster. You do the violence stuff. _I_ do the history stuff! Let me do my job!”  
  
Wyatt straightens, huffs an exasperated breath, and runs a hand through his hair, visibly trying to calm himself. “Okay,” he says. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”  
  
Lucy nods. “Okay. Good.”

  


Four hours later, Rufus and Lucy are hiding in a back alley with a semiconscious, blood-soaked Wyatt propped up between them as a large number of heavily armed, angry, and fortunately very drunk men run past, shouting orders to each other. As soon as the sound of their boots hitting the ground dies away, Rufus lowers Wyatt to the ground, shrugs out of his coat, folds it up and presses it hard against Wyatt’s right shoulder. Wyatt flinches at the pressure, but his eyes are open and he seems more aware than he has been for the last few minutes, since they fled the party.  
  
Lucy fumbles her scarf off, wads it up and holds it against the side of Wyatt’s head, which somehow seems to be bleeding more than the rest of him. Her breathing is fast and shallow and her eyes are very wide. “I’m sorry,” she’s saying, over and over again. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea that would happen.”  
  
“Calm down,” Rufus tells her. He’s half-aware that he should probably be saying something more helpful, that Lucy the control freak needs to feel a little more in control, but he’s preoccupied with planning how the hell the two of them are going to get a barely-mobile soldier all the way to the lifeboat without being arrested or shot.  
  
“I’m sorry,” she repeats.  
  
Wyatt waves his left hand around until it finds Lucy’s, scarf bunched up in her fist, and taps it. “Press harder,” he says, slurring very slightly, “or it won’t do anything.” She opens her mouth, but before she can say anything, he adds, “And don’t apologise again.”  
  
She shuts her mouth with a snap, and Rufus is relieved to see some of her panic replaced with a flicker of annoyance. She presses on her scarf until Wyatt hisses softly. “Sorry,” she says, more calmly this time.  
  
“It’s okay,” Rufus says. “You can’t save history without breaking a few eggs.”  
  
“Hey,” says Wyatt. “Why do I have to be the egg? I’m not an egg.”  
  
“You’re an egg,” Rufus tells him.  
  
It might just be the concussion, but Wyatt doesn’t really seem to mind being an egg. “Speaking of breaking things, I saw what you did with that guy.” He grins, which, given the amount of blood on his face, has a rather startling effect. “You dislocated his knee. That was awesome.”  
  
“I’m smart,” says Rufus. “I learn fast.” He sneaks a glance at Lucy’s face, which shows a war between guilt and exasperation. “You didn’t do that great, though,” he continues, looking back at Wyatt. “One guy with a cleaver and suddenly you’re totally useless.”  
  
“It was a really big cleaver,” Wyatt protests. “And he was a really big guy. And I won, didn’t I?”  
  
“I don’t know what winning looks like to you, my friend, but this isn’t it.” Rufus pushes on his coat a little harder to make his point, and Wyatt gasps, then manages a chuckle. Another glance at Lucy shows that exasperation has finally won the war.  
  
“You two are ridiculous,” she says.  
  
“Us?” Rufus points at her with his free hand. “You’re the one that got Susan B Anthony so riled up that she sicced all those party dudes on us.”  
  
“You know what? I’m not even sorry anymore.” She sets her chin defiantly, which is almost enough to cover another flicker of guilt. But she’s not panicking, and she’s stopped apologising for now, which is really a best-case scenario. “Anyway, I think you’ll find that Susan B Anthony is safe for history, so technically I was right.”  
  
“Please,” Wyatt begs. “Please stop saying ‘Susan B Anthony’.”  
  
Lucy leans in very close, brings her mouth right to his ear, and whispers sensually, “Susan B Anthony.”  
  
“Feel better?” Rufus asks her, speaking over Wyatt’s theatrical groan. She nods and gives him a watery but determined smile. “Good,” he says, “because I just figured out how we’re getting out of here, and it involves you being flirtatious, and you –” nodding at Wyatt – “being dead.”  
  
“I can do that,” Lucy says thoughtfully.  
  
From the ground, Wyatt gives him a lazy left-handed thumbs-up.  
  
Trusting each other is easy, Rufus thinks. Understanding each other – well, that’s coming along nicely.


End file.
